


Low Grade Lust

by fem_castielnovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conversations over beer, Gen, Longing, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/fem_castielnovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prequel based on the line “Tim is somehow always able to find him (something about angel radio)” from <a href="http://fem-deanwinchester.tumblr.com/post/134919246155/but-who-is-gonna-tell-doug-about-tim">this gem</a> which broke my fucking heart <strike>as if the canonical character death weren’t enough</strike></p>
            </blockquote>





	Low Grade Lust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Powerfulweak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/gifts).



 

 

Tim isn’t sure what he’s feeling the first time it happens.  
It is neither warm, nor fuzzy. But it makes him feel important.  
Eventually he equates it to the vibration of his grace registering in the same way that he reacts, mentally to his phone vibrating. (An association which proves to be uncanny in its accuracy).

He’s disappointed when he does discern what it is. Disappointed in himself, that is. He’s perhaps a bit confused by its source, but otherwise very okay with it. And it’s important to note that the only reason he’s disappointed is because it took him nearly three weeks before he correlated the sensation to meeting up with Doug.

Souls are noisy things. With their prayers and longings, unchecked and unfiltered by the unwitting sources of emission.  They can be whiney, sometimes vague with a non-specific essence of coercion, or soft purrs in his periphery. For the most part, he can hear whenever one calls out. But that’s only when he’s near the source. Even then, the quality is dulled, as if he were listening to it through a veil that muddled the intent but maintained the overall clamor.  

Demonic essences are different. They sound like alley cats distantly yowling for supper – or (less metaphorically) for attention. But those, too, are dulled by whatever it is that veils soul-noises. They’ve both got the same sort of ambiguity. Like he isn’t _intended_ to hear them.

As he becomes more familiar with the presence of the vibration – the tugging, Tim thinks he can actually read things into it more than the generic sensation he had initially experienced. Doug’s longing is very specific towards Tim himself. Tim doesn’t even think that any other angels can perceive it. He wonders what they’d think if they knew a demon was longing for angelic company.  
It’s a longing turned with a sinful twist: a sort of low-grade lust. In the platonic sense, of course. More of a craving than anything else. But really it did sound more suiting, more _demonic_ when it was put as ‘lust.’  
There’s almost something … forlorn about it. For a while Tim’s sure he’s just imagining that. Eventually, he decides to ignore it as much as possible.

The longing kicked in about an hour ago, but a substantial boost in intensity has Tim flying to its source. He lands softly, wings barely making a sound and looks to his left.  
Doug frowns down at his phone and closes the lock screen. “I was about to text you.”

“I know.”

"How’d you find me?“

He’s been waiting for Doug to ask. It’s been at least a week since Tim began showing up beside Doug in response to the sensation instead of texts.

Tim doesn’t consider answering with the truth: that it’s a pulsating longing he can sense from Doug whenever they’re supposed to meet. He thinks it would injure the demon’s pride, and possibly strain their casual friendship.

"Angel radio,” he says.

Doug seems to find the answer acceptable. He sips his beer.  
Tim looks around the pub they’re in. It’s rather authentic.

“How do you even find these places?”

Doug swallows his mouthful, “Yelp.” He ducks his head to the right, gesturing at the empty seat. “Sit.”

Tim doesn’t make the mistake of interpreting Doug’s poor manners as being either concise or commanding. Demonic etiquette school, in _deed_.

He raises his hand to get the barkeeper’s attention, then points to the demon beside him, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Tim can’t quite read the expression on Doug’s face in that moment, but an undeniably pleased pulse swells through the longing that tugs at his grace.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always, very appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.


End file.
